


Tabula Rasa

by sepherim_ml



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Boys Kissing, Crack, Fluff, M/M, Memory Loss, temporary memory loss
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-20
Updated: 2013-02-20
Packaged: 2017-11-29 22:28:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,172
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/692203
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sepherim_ml/pseuds/sepherim_ml
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He wakes up in a room full of strangers with no memories of their past and present. None of them remember their own name, much less what happened, but while they try to figure out who they are they get a lot of things wrong along the way...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tabula Rasa

**A/N** : This is written for [this prompt](http://spnkink-meme.livejournal.com/66638.html?thread=21118798#t21118798) at [](http://spnkink-meme.livejournal.com/profile)[ **spnkink_meme**](http://spnkink-meme.livejournal.com/). I wrote it and promptly forget about it for a couple of months (oops). For the fan of the 'Buffy The Vampire Slayer' this may sounds familiar; it's a Supernatural take on the episode 'Tabula Rasa' (season 6 episode 7), but you don't need to have any knowledge on the BTVS world to read this. It's just pure crack.  
  
 **A/N#2** : This is unbeta'd. If you spot any errors, please let me know.  
  
  
  
He wakes up in a room full of strangers.  
  
Correction, he wakes up in a room full of strangers, resting his head on a very solid and warm body belonging to some unknown man.  
  
The strangest thing is that he doesn't even know his  _own_  name. He moves and the gorgeous man wakes up and widens his big, blue eyes, unconsciously licking his dry lips. Weird. He doesn't feel threaten by this stranger, instead he feels fine, like he actually knows him.  
  
"Hey, Sleeping Beauty," he says instinctively. "Did you have a peaceful rest?"  
  
The stranger frowns. "You were resting against my shoulder. You should be this Sleeping Beauty you are talking about."  
  
The other strangers start to wake up too. There is a very tall guy who sits up and looks around with skepticism and bleary eyes, suspiciously eyeing the other man who is laying prone on the ground, still peacefully asleep. There is also an old man with a baseball cap who is muttering under his breath while he's moving around with his wheelchair.  
  
"Where am I?" asks Tall Guy, standing up. "Who the hell are you? Who –  _who_  am I?"  
  
"You don't remember who you are? That's warped dude."  
  
"So, idjit, care to tell me who  _you_  are?" asks Baseball Cap guy. "'cause I don't remember a shit either."  
  
He looks at his clothes, trying to remember something,  _anything_  about his past and present. Fuck, he fails to remember his own name, he doesn't even remember if he has a family, a wife, a life. Nothing. Completely blank, like his memory is being erased. "I don't know, but Blue Eyes, here, will tell you."  
  
Blue Eyes looks surprised when he taps him on the back. "Why me? Oh, because you woke up resting against my shoulder?"  
  
"'Cause you had your arm around my waist! You should know who I am. Unless you're touching in their sleep everyone!"  
  
Blue Eyes frowns. "I don't know who you are, but I feel comfortable with you." He stares at him so intensely that he makes the other people in the room feel uneasy. But strangely enough, Blue Eyes' gaze doesn't make him fidget or move away. Instead, he feels drawn to him.  
  
"Great, we have to deal with a lovey-dovey couple. Just what we need," comments aloud Baseball Cap guy. He throws a glance to the last occupant of the room, still peacefully asleep. "Somebody wakes this idjit up!"  
  
The task falls on Tall Guy's shoulders who shakes the other one's arm. "Hey, buddy, are you alright?"  
  
"Superb," comments the new stranger, yawing and sitting up like he has all the answers in the world. He looks at Tall Guy curiously, then to the other people, smiling widely. "Hey, guys! Is it a party? Where're all the women?"  
  
"You remember who you are?" asks Tall Guy.  
  
The other one stands up and he looks disheartened when he notices he arrives barely to Tall Guy's shoulders. He takes a step back and glares at Tall Guy. "No, but I'm sure there's an explanation. Maybe I partied too hard."  
  
Well, certainly there is a lot of alcohol around, starting from the beers on the desk and the empty bottle of whisky over the cabinet, but not enough to explain a hangover or a memory loss of five people.  
  
"IDs!" Tall Guy exclaims, looking in his pockets. "We surely have some document or driving license to prove our identity!"  
  
He looks in his pockets, finding immediately a shiny badge. "I'm – Dean Cobain. FBI agent. Cool shit."  
  
"I'm a FBI agent too," says Tall Like a Tree guy. "I'm – Samuel Ross." He looks at Dean. "Maybe we're partners."  
  
Blue Eyes checks in the pockets of his trench coat, but he doesn't find a thing.  
  
"No ID?"  
  
"No," he shakes his head. "Nothing."  
  
Dean hates seeing the lost expression on Blue Eyes guy's face, so he pats his shoulder and winks at him. "No biggie, we can find a name for you. Temporary."  
  
"I have no idea how I may be called."  
  
Dean looks at him closely, cataloguing the blue, trusting eyes, slightly chapped lips and dark tussled hair. He wonders if Baseball Cap man is right and they're actually a couple. It would explain a lot, starting from where this sense of familiarity comes from. "You look like a James. Jim. Yes, you look like a Jimmy."  
  
"I don't feel like a Jimmy."  
  
"Sure you are, Sherlock."  
  
"I don't feel like a Sherlock either."  
  
"It's an expression."  
  
"I don't understand your expressions. But, Jim seems a fitting name."  
  
"I'm Robert Singer," announces Baseball Cap man, rustling in some papers over the desk. "And this is house is mine." He raises one of the books, full of Latin inscriptions and weird symbols. "Minus those books, who apparently belong to some Satanist."  
  
"Maybe  _you're_  the Satanist," comments Short guy with a smirk.  
  
"Care to introduce yourself, Mr. I-still-don't-know-who-I-am? Then, after that, you can shut the hell up."  
  
"Touchy-touchy," replies the other. He checks in his pockets but, as Jim, he doesn't find a thing. "No ID. But, hey, Dean-o, do you want to find a name for me too, or it's just for your snuggle bunny?"  
  
"Bite me, asshole."  
  
"I don't think your Jimmy-snugglebunny would agree. Or... yes? Kinky."  
  
"Does any of you remember anything at all?" asks Samuel, interrupting them. He looks frustrated and wary, still not sure if trusting a bunch of strangers is advisable. Samuel's eyebrows furrow in concentration when he stares at Dean, like he's trying to figure something out.  
  
"What's wrong, bitch?" Those words escape from Dean's lips before he can even think, it's like a natural reaction.  
  
"Nothing, jerk." Samuel responds immediately.  
  
The bartering sounds too familiar to be a happy coincidence.  
  
"Maybe we're really partners," comments Samuel. Then he looks at Jimmy, who doesn't seem happy at all, and adds. "Partners on the job, I mean."  
  
"It certainly explains why you're both in my home with your – other halves," comments Robert. "I'm still missing why you're here in my house."  
  
Short Guy raises his hands. "Whoa, man, I'm not gay. Dean and hi snuggle bunny, okay, but me and this big guy? Not.Gay."  
  
"Then why you're here?"  
  
"Well, I can be –" Shorty looks around until he stares at Samuel, then he smiles and perks up. "That's it! Samuel and I are brothers!"  
  
"What?!"  
  
"How can you two be brothers?" asks Dean, interrupting Samuel. "He's Big Bird and you're – a chipmunk."  
  
Jimmy smiles and even Grumpy Robert cracks a smile.  
  
"I can see the stunning family resemblance. Same flopping hair, same eyes." Shorty ignores Dean's comment, he smirks, looking at a startled Samuel. "Yes, we're brothers."  
  
"How can you be so sure?" Sam passes a hand through his hair, self-consciously. "You don't have ID."  
  
"You and Dean know Robert and you bring me over here for dinner."  
  
"Still don't understand where this conclusion about us being brothers comes from."  
  
"Ok, Sammy-boy, look at me and think at the first thing that comes out from your mind."  
  
"I feel like I know you, but, at the same time, I feel like –"  
  
"SHIT!"  
  
Everybody looks at Dean who is now holding a gun and a long knife.  
  
"What?" asks Jim, immediately preoccupied.  
  
"I've got an arsenal in my pockets." He fiddles with the gun, feeling it familiar in his palm, and he does the same thing with the knife. "Look. I'm Batman."  
  
Jim blinks without moving as Dean starts playing with his gun and knife. Samuel looks unimpressed too, like he's used to that sight, even though he doesn't remember it, but Robert mutters under his breath a clear 'Idjit', and starts yelling at everybody to get a grip on themselves and try to figure out something to get their memories back. Shorty just looks around and looks for something – maybe booze? –.  
  
"I find hard to believe that FBI agents have this type of knives as part of their equipment," comments Samuel, looking at Dean's knife, which is definitely particular, carved with unreadable symbols and a pentacle.  
  
"It's Enochian," adds Jimmy, trying to be helpful. "This are protection symbols."  
  
"How do you know?"  
  
"I can read it."  
  
"Geek boy," mutters Dean. "Are you one of those Trekkie weirdos?"  
  
"What is a – Trekkie?"  
  
"Nevermind."  
  
Jimmy looks at him intently, as he's trying to figure Dean out, but in the end he doesn't ask for further explanations, he leans against Dean, so close that they're almost touching and Dean has the distinct impression that if he slides an arm around his shoulder Jimmy wouldn't say anything at all, he'll just take it like it's a habit. Maybe Robert he's right, maybe Dean and Jimmy are an item, after all.  
  
"From where I'm standing," interjects Shorty. "We're in deep trouble."  
  
"How about?"  
  
"Our grumpy host is out of candies."  
  
"We have no memories of ourselves," says Samuel, rubbing his eyes. "And you're worried about candies?"  
  
"Don't get your panties in a twist, brother, a guy has needs."  
  
"He needs  _candies_?"  
  
"Enough of your nonsense, idjits," Robert interrupts them. "I think I found something." He shows them the book he's reading. "It was open to this page; how to do this specific ritual to purify an artifact, _this_  artifact, " he motions to a small stone statue on the desk shaped like some kind of deity of the past. "Which is an ancient statuette used in the cult of some Armenian goodness whose name I cannot pronounce. It says that touching it can cause memory loss. Only a spell can purify it and nullify its power."  
  
"Do you think that trying to figure it out why the ritual went wrong it's the way to have our memories back?" asks Sam, disbelieving. "We need to get to a hospital. Our memory loss cannot be provoked by something – supernatural."  
  
"What if? We're in a house full of books of spells and weird symbols and maybe Robert is right. Maybe it has to do something with all of this – supernatural stuff. You have an explanation why we have lost all our memories altogether?"  
  
"Dean, it's not possible."  
  
"I'm not saying I believe to this voodoo crap, but we can try."  
  
"We should try," says Jimmy, helping Dean out. "If the spell doesn't work we can go to the hospital."  
  
"Right, you heard Jim."  
  
Samuel still looks doubtful, but he shrugs and gives his approval.  
  
"We're really doing this? We're performing a ritual? Lame." Shorty stretches his hand towards the statuette, but Robert is faster and he bats his hand away.  
  
"Are you dumb? The memory loss isn't enough for you? Do you really need to play with it?"  
  
"Relax, old man, the statuette cannot do any worse."  
  
"Don't bet on that."  
  
The ingredients for the ritual are difficult to find in the mess of the house, even Robert shows his impatience when they aren't able to locate them, considering they are just spread out in the living room, which it's a sign that they tried to do so but they lost the memory before doing that. Or at least is what Samuel assumes with an obnoxious professor-y voice, as if a moment before he wasn't skeptical about all supernatural stuff. Apart from that, Samuel is being uncooperative; he sits down researching on internet god knows what, ignoring everyone else. Dean and Jimmy, after being yelled at by Robert, sit down too and sip a beer, watching Shorty and Robert bickering like an old couple.  
  
Dean sneaks a glance towards Jimmy, finding him looking pensively at his feet. He pats his back. "It's going to be okay, dude."  
  
Jimmy looks at him and nods absently. They look each other for a long moment and Dean feels a strange itch on his right shoulder. He ignores it and he acts on instinct, passing an arm around Jimmy's shoulders. There's a little discomfort and Dean is almost sliding away and pretend it didn't happen, when Jimmy leans closer, resting his head on Dean's right shoulder. The itch goes away immediately.  
  
"Do you think – Samuel's brother is right? Do you think we're a couple?"  
  
Dean goes stiff in a second, then he drinks another sip of his beer and – what the hell, it's not like he doesn't find Jimmy attractive, no, he thought that from the first second he saw him – he takes a leap of faith.  
  
He leans forward. He may not remember anything at all of his past, but Jimmy looks pretty damn hot and Dean is no-one to say no when he's been so blatantly hit on. "What ya think?"  
  
Jimmy's eyes are locked to his lips, then he looks up and Dean sees the invitation written clearly on his face.  
  
"If we're not fucking each other, I'd be crazy."  
  
Jimmy angles himself better, so he can look at Dean more intently, shifting between his lips and the rest of his face. "You don't look like a crazy person."  
  
"'cause I'm not."  
  
"Show me."  
  
Dean kisses him, hard and confident, and barely contains a smile when Jimmy kisses him back without a bit of uneasiness, making clear that he wants the kiss as much as Dean, maybe he fantasizes about it, like Dean did.  
  
They break apart, and Dean brushes his lips against Jimmy's ear. "Let's get out of here," he whispers, forgetting about the situation and the whole memory loss thing.  
  
"Oh please, we don't need that  _now_ ," groans Samuel. "Don't get frisky here."  
  
"Bite me, asshole. We need some private time while Robert is working his mojo."  
  
"I think we're done," announces Robert and it's Dean's turn to groan in frustration, while Samuel shots him a satisfied smirk. "We just need to read the spell." He squints his eyes, trying to read the indecipherable language. "It's –"  
  
"Aramaic," completes Shorty. "And, yes, old man, I can read it." He takes the book and starts reading with clear voice. The lights go out and the windows tremble, Dean, Jimmy and Sam stand up from their seats while a couple of books fall from the desk to the floor. "Great, now we're in the dark," says Shorty. "But, yeah, that's it. Spell done."  
  
"Does any of you remember something now?" asks Sam. "'cause I don't."  
  
Dean turns to Jimmy, finding him still pressed close against his side. "Neither do I. Jimmy?"  
  
Before the other man can say anything, the windows tremble again and the statuette starts glowing. Suddenly a bright light hits the five of them, sending them against the wall.  
  
As soon as Dean wakes up he finds himself under Jimmy, carefully protected by his body and... a nice pair of black wings.  
  
"You have... wings, dude!"  
  
Jimmy doesn't look very surprised, more mesmerized by Dean and their proximity.  
  
"Dude?"  
  
The kiss is a light touch on the lips, small and chaste. Dean widens his eyes, but doesn't reciprocate. Jimmy doesn't seem annoyed or disappointed, he just pulls away and asks if everything is fine. Glancing at Jimmy's black wings one last time before turning his attention back to Jimmy's face, Dean forgets about any doubts he may have and kisses him back.  
  
  
  
  
That's when the statuette glows again and shatters in a million pieces on the floor.  
  
  
  
  
Dean blinks a couple of times, finding Castiel's lips on his own, still pressed under him on the bare floor. He takes a moment to process the whole thing, then shoves him aside, sitting up.  
  
"A little help here would be appreciated!" Bobby's voice comes from somewhere in the room. Sam seems to be the nearest and helps him on his wheelchair.  
  
"So,  _you_  are our beloved lovey-dovey couple," comments Gabriel, looking at Castiel and Dean, still frozen on top of each other on the floor. He conjures up a big bag of marshmallows snapping his fingers and starts eating the sweets frantically, like a starved man.  
  
"Oh shut up," Dean stands up, carefully avoiding to look at Castiel's face. "I need a drink. Good help on purifying the statuette, by the way," he adds.  
  
"I  _did_  help, Dean-o. I read the spell, remember? On the other hand, you were too busy cuddling your snuggle-bunny to do something useful!" Gabriel remarks.  
  
"Yeah, you're amazing. Archangel my ass," interjects Bobby sarcastically. "Now go away."  
  
Dean catches Sam's uneasy expression and decides to forget the brandy on the table in the living room and go straight for a beer in the kitchen, just to go away from the embarrassment.  
  
Bobby and Gabriel's bickering and Sam's useless attempts to sedate it accompanies him in his retreat. He takes out from the fridge a cold beer and starts drinking, trying to drown in there his action from the last hour. Fuck. What was he thinking?  
  
"Dean."  
  
Great. Now, Castiel prefers to stalk him instead of going in search of his lousy Father.  
  
"What?"  
  
He turns around but he finds Castiel standing there, his hands clenched in fists, looking in the verge of telling him something. Dean remembers well how he felt with Jimmy – the easy familiarity, the instinct to touch him –; there is nothing new, he feels the same with Castiel, hell, he kind of consider him as family, but this is not exactly the same as kissing him and trying to get some time alone.  
  
"You kissed me," says Castiel with seriousness. "You said 'If we're not fucking each other, I'd be crazy'."  
  
"Cas, I was under the influence of some spell."  
  
"The statuette caused the memory loss, not a change in behavior."  
  
"Whatever. It's the same."  
  
"It's hardly the same."  
  
"Cas –" Dean puts his beer down. "Are you – proposing something?"  
  
"I am. And you're not so against it."  
  
Damn, no. Not in the slightest. Not when he gets rid of all the bullshit in his head and starts to actually look at Castiel's expression, at the same, open invitation he saw before, when he had no memories of his past, when all his defenses were down and his instincts kicked in.  
  
Castiel moves closer to Dean, and he's clearly debating if touching him or not, more like he doesn't really know how to do the first move.  
  
It's Dean who takes the lead.  
  
Once he makes up his mind, it's easy to kiss Castiel fervently. When they break apart, they are panting, looking at each with eyes blown up by lust.  
  
"Let's get out of here," Dean repeats his line with husky voice, his hands already on Castiel's hips, nibbling at his pants.  
  
This time, Castiel touches him and zap them somewhere else.


End file.
